


The Damned and The Doomed

by DrumMerica



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Agony, Anxiety, Battle, Bitterness, Death, Depression, Destiny, Dimension Travel, Doom, Dragonborn - Freeform, Dragons, Draugr, Fate, Gen, Magic, Nordics, Revenge, Sadness, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Swords, Thu'um, Time Travel, Undead, crpyt, dragon wars, failure - Freeform, tombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrumMerica/pseuds/DrumMerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the dust settled and the booming resonations faded away, the Dragonborn unshielded his eyes. Before him stood a ring of green shockwaves about the size of a doorway. But, instead of seeing the rocky cliffside before him, the portal contained what looked to be a stone archway, followed by steps that lead to a large set of doors. Statues of mighty Nordic warriors stood to either side. However, all of this was contained inside the ovalcular portal. The stone building and monuments gave way at the edges of the green shockwaves, and outside stood the plain rock surface of the cliff. It was as if he was peering into another dimension. Biorn was speechless.<br/>But what left him truly dumbstruck was not the portal, or the separate dimension that now stood before him. Through the portal and above the magnificent stone doors read a faint carving. Biorn read it, then read it again, then read it a third time. His legs weakened, his body convulsed with horror and utter confusion, turning pale in disbelief. Above the door was inscribed “Biorn Wikstrom, The Last Dragonborn, The Dovah Who Failed, The One Who Damned Tamriel.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Damned and The Doomed

**Author's Note:**

> My first and probably last fan fiction. Constructive criticism and feedback are extremely appreciated!

The sense grew stronger as Dovahkiin Biorn approached the hill. It was odd; how the feeling grew stronger the nearer he came, almost as if some otherworldly force had been directing him to that particular hill. Ever since the startlingly dangerous confrontation with Alduin at the Throat of the World, an unavoidable feeling had taken grasp on the young Dragonborn’s mind, a feeling that demanded immediate attention. Paarthurnax, his dragon ally against Alduin, recommended a plan that eventually led to the capture of Odahviing. Odahviing offered to take Biorn to Skuldafn, where the portal to Sovngarde lay. As insatiably tempting as such a magnificent offer was, it would have to wait. The sense that held his mind felt infinitely more important. It was almost hypnotic in a way. There was no voice, no one talking to him; it was a feeling that guided him.  
Biorn had immediately heeded to the wills of this higher power as soon as he captured Odahviing. It seemed to be directing him to the west of Whiterun. While there was no obvious affirmations as to whether his course was true to the mysterious sense’s intention, more powerful and potent feelings seemed to swell the more he obeyed. It seemed to him this was positive reinforcement.  
And soon, the Nordic Dragonborn was sure he was heading the right way. After climbing over a rather tall hill, his eyes immediately fell on a stone rune that lay in front of a rocky cliff. The sense felt Biorn nearing its goal. It grew restless, demanding without cease that he go to that ancient looking rune. Without hesitation, Biorn obeyed.  
He climbed down the hill, and now stood in the valley between it and the rocky cliff. Only a few feet stood between him and the rune. If he were to turn his head to the right, Whiterun could be seen easily in the distance. The sense was now wreaking havoc. This was the spot of its intent, that Biorn was sure of. It demanded he step on it, else he continued to be driven mad by it’s fantastic hallucinations. Without hesitation, the Dovah moved onto it.  
The sense gave way to release. The pressure, the driving pressure that had been building and building since High Hrothgar, finally dispensed. His mind cleared and Biorn was thankful to be delivered from that harrowing necessity.  
But perhaps he thought too soon. Just as he stepped on the rune, before him, a ghastly explosion immediately rang out. Biorn instinctively shielded his eyes from the intense light, which radiated out magnificently in all directions. A loud crackle rang forth as well, thundering shockwaves in every direction. One looking on the event would see swaying trees, birds fleeing, and grass being uprooted all around the immediate area.  
When the dust settled and the booming resonations faded away, the Dragonborn unshielded his eyes. Before him stood a ring of green shockwaves about the size of a doorway. But, instead of seeing the rocky cliffside before him, the portal contained what looked to be a stone archway, followed by steps that lead to a large set of doors. Statues of mighty Nordic warriors stood to either side. However, all of this was contained inside the ovalcular portal. The stone building and monuments gave way at the edges of the green shockwaves, and outside stood the plain rock surface of the cliff. It was as if he was peering into another dimension. Biorn was speechless.  
But what left him truly dumbstruck was not the portal, or the separate dimension that now stood before him. Through the portal and above the magnificent stone doors read a faint carving. Biorn read it, then read it again, then read it a third time. His legs weakened, his body convulsed with horror and utter confusion, turning pale in disbelief. Above the door was inscribed “Biorn Wikstrom, The Last Dragonborn, The Dovah Who Failed, The One Who Damned Tamriel.”  
The sense returned. It urged him to walk through the portal. He was almost immobilized with fear and confusion. His brain writhed desperately against performing such an act as well as simultaneously trying to make sense of it all. Is. . .is this me the carving speaks of? I am the last Dragonborn. . .but what am I looking at? How is this possible? What Biorn saw through that portal was beyond comprehension. But the sense insisted, demanded he enter between those green shockwaves. He tried to resist, but had no control over the fanatic sense that reigned in his mind. The Dovahkiin closed his eyes, hesitated, then took a step forward. Hundreds of startling questions buzzed violently in his head. Another step. His legs wobbled. Soon, he was moving at walking speed--left, right, left, right. He entered the portal, desperate to run away, yet moved forward by whatever power was guiding him.  
Biorn stood on the other side, the portal now directly behind him. As he crossed over, the bright blue skies that were shining upon him turned into an ominous red. Grass, trees, everything--it was all ravaged and covered in soot, as if war had decimated the land. He looked towards Whiterun. The beautiful, shining city had been burnt down, buildings charred and reduced to their foundations.  
Dread filled young Biorn’s heart. It seemed he had moved backwards in time--to the time of the Dragon Wars, perhaps? No, then what is this business about the tomb of the Last Dragonborn doing here? It must be the future, he concluded reluctantly. And this is my tomb.  
“What has happened to Skyrim?” He mumbled with amazement. “And what sort of sick joke lies before me?”  
The sense did not need to tell him what to do next. It did not need to. It was clear he was to enter the tomb. His tomb. The tomb of the Last Dragonborn.  
The stone steps seemed to welcome him as he walked up and past the archway, and the stone-carved warriors stood over the doorway defiantly, guarding against potential trespassers. Biorn wondered in awe for a moment before approaching the doors. A grip of hesitation took hold of his reaching hands, only inches from the door. I should turn back, I should turn back and never return. . . Biorn found the courage to cast his fears aside and pushed the doors open.  
Biorn found himself at the head of a descending staircase. An odor of musty dilapidation rose from the chambers that presumably lay below. The Dragonborn checked his weapons. In his left hand was a shield of ebony, which he found on the corpse of a bandit a while back. In his right was ebony as well. A sword which Biorn crafted himself in the beauty of Solitude. He hoisted them at the ready, mentally preparing all the spells at his disposal, before descending the stairs.  
Weeds and other growth ran rampant in the cracks and crevices that seemed to litter the walls, floor, and ceiling. Pots and urns were at every landing of the four sets of stairs, covered in layers of dust.  
When he finally reached the bottom, Biorn entered into a large chamber, wider than it was long. The structure was supported by two large columns in the middle. Fire pits dimly lit the area, and imagination helped fill in the dark, huddled corners where light didn’t reach. The stonework was very damaged. Cracks and wear were ever present, and chunks of the ceiling seemed to have fallen away some plenty of years ago, creating piles of rubble.  
Above all, at the far end of the chamber, a fantastic stone picture was carved on the wall, surrounding a small doorway. Biorn eagerly walked towards it, weary to the shadows that now surrounded him on both sides. His mind still whirred with fearful anticipation as it had when he first read the inscription above the main entrance. He didn’t want to believe what was happening was real; and yet, there he was, in what must presumably be his own tomb. It seemed his destiny had been laid out before him in those carvings, yet he didn’t want to believe it. ‘The One Who Damned Tamriel? What does that mean?’ he pondered silently.  
The depiction became easily discernible as he approached the other side of the room. From left to right, the massive wall of intricate carvings seemed to tell a sort of tale; the first shown a man stabbing a dragon in some other-worldly land, slain warriors scattered around them. It seemed the first picture, obviously, was likely himself defeating Alduin. Seeing that his prophecy had come true in this future dimension gave him profound inner strength. Despite the ominous setting, it almost made him feel content with himself. However, the next few pictures quickly stole away any pleasure the first may have gave him.  
The next shown many other dragons wreaking havoc on a town, killing, burning, and destroying. They seemed to be led by one larger dragon, who had a smile that was menacing as it was cold. In that dragon’s talons was an impaled man, who had the same appearance as the slayer of Alduin in the first depiction. A terrified gasp stole free from Biorn’s mouth. His heart thumped with the intensity of a machine’s piston. His horrified mind did not want to acknowledge what was clearly stated in these depictions. Even with the defeat of Alduin, dragons continued to rein, all led by a new dragon. And it seemed that he, the only hope, the Last Dragonborn, would not defeat him, considering the last depictions shown himself being slaughtered by that same large dragon with his grizzly talons and laid to rest.  
Biorn was absolutely confounded. Growing agony tore away at his insides. His stomach churned with the likes of nauseous agony, and his eyes and mouth gaped. In the smallest utterance, he voiced, “By the Gods. . .,” before dropping to his knees in overwhelming panic.  
‘This isn’t my destiny!’ he thought in desperation. ‘I am to slay Alduin and save all of Tamriel from the dragons! I am to save Tamriel, not damn it!’  
A vertical coffin burst open from a dark place left of Biorn. Two more crashes of coffin lids boomed through the chamber. The sharp sound of unsheathed metal cut through the thick air.  
Biorn stood, raising his sword and shield at the ready. He frantically searched about the areas that the sound resonated from, but the room was too dim to see much. Biorn squinted his eyes just in time to see a massive sword coming down at him from his left. He raised his shield to block the attack. The blow hit hard on Biorn’s reinforced ebony shield, causing him to stagger backwards slightly just as an arrow shot from his left narrowly flew past his head. He turned to discern where he was being shot from. In no time at all, the attacker who had swung their sword at him was now charging. As the foe moved into better light, Biorn could see he was a draugr, a warrior of the nords who was damned to walk the earth. But this particular undead was not like any draugr he had ever seen before. It wore a dark, splotchy suit of armor with curving horns protruding from the helmet and shoulder pieces. The armor made the draugr fearsome indeed. And those eyes. Those, deep, soulless blue eyes locked onto Biorn with raging intensity.  
Biorn readied himself. The draugr took his greatsword in both hands and wound it back to the side. Without a moment’s hesitation, Biorn shot forwards and plunged his sword into the neck of the draugr. The body fell as he released it and another arrow whizzed past his face. He turned to face where the arrow was shot from as another draugr (wearing the same armor) came running out of the black shadow, drawing his massive warhammer, with spikes like that of a giant meat tenderizer, over his head. Biorn threw himself sideways as the hammer came crashing down, narrowly dodging it, before bashing the draugr to the ground and cutting his throat.  
As he raised his sword from the now deceased draugr, a menacing, hollow voice drove out of the shadows.  
“Zun...haal...viik!”  
A blue wave of air bursted from the darkness towards Biorn. As the blast hit him, he found his grasp loosen and give out on his sword, which bounced off of a nearby stone pillar before settling into place on the edges of the lighted area in front of him. Beyond that, an eerie, black curtain of shadows hung. With his shield raised, Biorn ran forward to retrieve it. He was cautious, peering into the darkness as he moved closer to it. He bent down to pick up the sword. For a moment, all seemed safe, and his hand began closing around the weapon. That’s when the sound of footsteps creaked eerily in the darkness. Suddenly one foot came out and upon on the sword. Biorn then made out two blue, soulless eyes standing directly over him as the draugr entered the light. It kicked his sword backwards, settling it’s bow and quiver on it’s back before unsheathing a blade of it’s own.  
Biorn stood up. The swinging blade came at him sideways, to which he ducked instinctively and retaliated with a lunge of his own. The strike found it’s mark directly in the mid-chest region, but could only bounce off of the draugr’s surprisingly dense armor. A chilly, echoing laugh escaped the undead soul, obviously unaffected by Biorn’s stab. The foe was still laughing as it attempted a retaliation plunge into his neck. But Biorn was fast. A quick parry to the right took the cackling draugr off guard, and another quick shot to the skull silenced it.  
After the echoing of the fallen body ceased, silence hung in the air. As a precaution, Biorn made sure the draugrs were truly dead, as well as making sure no more would burst from their coffins and offer him a cold, steel surprise in his back when he wasn’t looking. The chamber room was all clear. Sweat rolled down the Dragonborn’s back, but he was not surprised or daunted by the battle. Draugr can hardly compare with all the dragons, warlords, and countless other foes that had fallen to his blade. ‘Could’ve been worse,’ he thought.  
In fact, Biorn had taken comfort in the battle, as it had taken his mind off of all the buzzing questions that surrounded him. Now, with the hostilities silenced, his mind irrevocably, despite his inner protests, started drawing back to the task at hand. He walked back to the carving on the wall that stood around the door, afraid of the answers he might find farther down in the tomb. He knew he must go on, though. Whatever my destiny may be, it involves delving into these depths to uncover the truth. My truth.  
Biorn passed through the doorway, leaving the dusty, ominous chamber behind. Another set of dilapidated, downward stairs. At the bottom was a door. Biorn took a breath, then pushed it open.  
A crypt lay past the barrier. Walls lined with dried-out bodies lined to the ceiling stood on either side. Every now and then, small beams of light cast in from holes in the tall roof helped illuminate the dimly-lit area, which Biorn could now see was under even more ruin than the last chamber. Sections of walls (including the bodies bestowed inside them) seemed to have simply crumbled away in some places, leaving heaps of stone and flesh scattered periodically. Biorn walked by one pile. A skull wearing a circlet of gold and rubies sat atop the rubble, facing towards him.  
He stopped in his tracks. The skull continued to stare into the beyond. Biorn traced through his memory, as if something about this very crown struck a chord. That’s when it hit him. “Jarl. . .Jarl Balgruuf? From Whiterun?” He whispered breathlessly. After clearing away some rubble, Biorn found a skeleton in what looked to be clothing of nobility. Yes, it was the Jarl!  
But why was he buried here? The Dragonborn thought. Was he indebted to me, even after death? Every time Biorn thought he was going mad with new, disheartening information, something else even worse kept showing up. The One Who Damned Tamriel. The depiction of myself being slain. Now, dead friends and allies line the walls of my tomb. And I still don’t know why I’m here. He felt himself growing weak in the knees. “I hope you’re doing well in Sovngarde,” was all he could manage to whisper before he forced himself forward.  
But it didn’t end there. Biorn found the corpses of many of the Greybeards--Arngeir, Wulfgar, among others--not far from the Jarl’s body, all wearing their unmistakably patterned black robes. Then, on the other side, a jut in the wall held two thrones, where two more corpses sat. One body wore the unmistakable clothing of an Imperial general, and the other wore a black fur coat, fir-trimmed and quite grand in size and appearance. They both wore crowns.  
Biorn walked past many other bodies he didn’t recognize, but would have eventually have known to be some of his closest friends--Serana, the vampire, sat in a wall inset, as did his future daughter, Sofie, among many others.  
His nerves had begun to unravel slowly as he walked through the crypt. Normally, the Dragonborn thought, crypts in burial tombs are in a side area as a means of displacement from the main branch. Here, the crypt is the main branch. It’s almost as if whoever built this place wanted it’s wanderers to see the bodies. But why is all this here? Why are all these people buried in my tomb? Why am I here?  
Biorn kept his sword at the ready, but didn’t have to use it. The deceased of the crypt’s burial walls remained dead. At the end of the path stood a large arching entranceway, which lead to a singular, long hall. Biorn walked through the passageway, taken in awe by the dramatic carvings that covered the walls. Each section of stone between the arching pillars depicted some sort of burnt city, razed to the ground with dragons flying overhead. Markarth, Solitude, and Whiterun were among them, as well as countless other cities and towns. In each depiction, the same bone-chilling dragon from before appeared with the Dragonborn skewered on his talons.  
Biorn thought back to how Whiterun looked after stepping through the portal, and how devastated it was. So it was the dragons that had burnt that great city to the ground!  
At the end of the hall stood a massive, ornate, gold-gilded door. On it was another marvelous carving (perhaps the most fantastic of the whole tomb) of a dragon crushing the Dragonborn and breathing a fiery Thu’um on him. Above it read the words “Biorn of Skyrim, Savior of Tamriel.”  
The mocking tone of the ancient inscription drove a dagger into Biorn’s heart. It all seemed far too real to actually be happening. If dragons end up defeating me and ruling Tamriel, he thought, then what is my purpose? Up to this point, Biorn had held out against the idea of all his work being vanquished in vain. Now, however, the cruel message above the door seemed to be a mocking admission of his doom.  
Perhaps he hadn’t been meant to see this much. The sense had left him since entering the tomb, so maybe it hadn’t wanted him to come this far. But no, he knew that was untrue. Though unsure of what purpose drove him here, he knew that his journey wasn’t meant to end before this magnificent gold barrier. Biorn didn’t bother to think until now that since this was his tomb, could he suspect that his future self was very likely buried behind that door? The thought made him shiver. He was meant to face himself, his future self. Why? Maybe answers to explain all of this, maybe a warning, a plea to avert from this fate. Maybe nothing at all. But he knew he must go on. The massive door gave way under his pushing hands.  
The final chamber stood before him. In fact, it was more of a large cavern than anything. Biorn stood on a small cliff, a thin, narrow bridge leading to an island of rocky soil in the middle of the chamber. Biorn looked down. The land he stood on faded away down below into a pitch black darkness, which covered the entire lower levels of the cavern. Empty, barely-audible droning emanated from them, as if a group of singers had been trapped down there for eternity. Never before had Biorn experienced such a strange, awe-inspiring phenomena.  
The middle platform extended about twenty feet in all directions, with only another stone bridge to continue forward. Past the stone bridge lay a platform of dirt that held a set of stairs, with waterfalls on either side descending from the ceiling into the black void below. The stairs led up and up, splitting symmetrically a couple times before coming together atop a final area. At the top, pressed back against the wall of the cavern, was a word wall inscribed in the language of the dovah. Directly in front of it lay a black stone coffin, in the style of the ancient Nords. Biorn gasped. It had to be the coffin. His coffin.  
On that final landing, in front of the coffin, an embalming (possibly sacrificial?) table stood, the rest of the platform being scattered with various urns, barrels, cabinets, and so on. Sunshine cast in from a collapsed hole in the ceiling, illuminating the altar area with natural light. The rest of the chamber was slightly dimmer.  
Biorn made his way across the first bridge, to the middle platform. Looking into the void worried him, not only because of the pitch blackness that seemed to swallow everything past a certain distance below his feet, but the unsettling droning rising from the space as well. Biorn didn’t see anything that might try to attack him. His mind turned it’s attention to the coffin that lay further ahead. The idea of his own body being buried there made him restless. Attempting to maintain order, he focused his thoughts on the world wall. Word walls are usually raised in commemoration of the fallen, and he imagined this one would be no different. If ever I were to learn what my fate holds, it would be on my own word wall.  
Biorn passed over the second bridge, over to the bottom of the stairs that led to the altar (and coffin) above. There, he would more fully understand his apparent damnation and death, as well as possibly receive a view of his own corpse. The thought shackled him. A heavy sigh drew out of him, all courage beginning to falter. As he climbed the stairs, he felt that fear dropping into his heart with every step. It became so torturous, in fact, that Biorn stopped and considered turning around. What do I have to gain here? Must I learn more about how I will come to damn all of Tamriel? I already know I am destined to fail. And now I must live my life knowing all my efforts will end in vain!  
Biorn dropped his body on to the steps in bitter anguish. The coffin lay at the landing not but twenty feet up the stairs. His heart, already burdened with agonizing knowledge, had no desire to see the coffin, or what lay inside, or what more secrets about himself he might find. All will to move forward left him. He was alone with nothing but his own despair in that terrible cavern.  
And the sense, the same sense that had directed him to his own tomb, now spoke to him. “Un tiid lost bo,” it said. Our time has come.  
The voice was ghastly, ominous, and seemed as if it was coming from above the platform, yet Biorn knew it was within his mind. Still, he looked up the stairs. Nothing. No sign of life, or anything by which the voice would’ve came from. In that moment, Biorn felt a shimmering of interest spark somewhere inside of him.  
I do not want to know what lays at the top of these stairs, but that doesn’t matter. I am the Dragonborn. I must cast my fears aside if I want to change this horrendous fate that surrounds me! Biorn stood up. It seemed that all the despair and hopelessness he felt was slowly trickling out of him, giving way to a newly piqued interest with the world wall as well as the coffin. Even though he felt forever doomed by his destiny, the story of how he would fail was still something that he wanted to know. Mustering his strength, he marched upwards.  
Draugr Biorn smiled in his coffin.  
The Dragonborn reached the landing. A slab of stone large enough for a small crowd of people to gather comfortably stood before the word wall and the coffin. Upon it stood shelves, cabinets, and chests with all varieties of soul gems, linen wraps, and alchemist ingredients. It was a mage’s paradise! And so wonderfully intact too. Everything seemed to be in it’s neat and proper place, as if nothing had been so much as been breathed upon for ages.  
Biorn looked toward the wall. Here it is. My future, written out before me. The thought never occurred to Biorn what he would do with this newfound knowledge, or how dangerous it was for him to be playing with time and fate. All he knew was that his future was sentenced in that stone, and nothing would stop him from discovering it now. He read the wall.  
“Het nok kopraan do Dovahkiin Biorn, wo lost ni promiin wah koraav okmaar mah naal , daan Taazokaan wah mah ko faal Ziist Dovah Kein.”  
Which, translated, reads:  
“Here lies the body of Dovahkiin Biorn, who had not the foresight to see himself felled by Paarthurnax, dooming Tamriel to fall in the Second Dragon War.”  
Rugged stiffness struck Biorn’s frame, the same stiffness he felt when peering through the portal for the first time. He could not force himself so much as to blink for account of his horrified shock. The whole situation up to now seemed to be a far-fetched dream, but this was truly the most flabbergasting part of it. “Paarthurnax. . .” he whispered, desperately searching for a way that the pieces of this puzzle would fit together without facing the terrible truth. “. . .he will slay me?”  
A harsh, bitter anger clenched his teeth and eyes. “No. . .no, this can’t be, this can’t be!” he thought back to the carvings in the first chamber. There was a single, recurring dragon in each depiction. That dragon was Paarthurnax! The one who is helping me defeat Alduin!  
Biorn could not fathom the ominous tale that stood before him. It all seemed too outrageous to even be plausible. Paarthurnax? Betraying humanity? Biorn recalled his first meeting with the ancient dragon. He remembered how much fright Dovahzul (as he is called in the dragon tongue) had caused him, being a dragon of such ancient power. His massive, tattered scales and chipped horns made him look all the more threatening. He promised, however, that he would not cause any harm, that he had tamed his inner beast. Paarthurnax even said, "What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"  
The Dragonborn’s face reddened as he threw his shield to the ground in disgust. “The damned liar!” He shouted, an echo spreading throughout the cavern. “He is using me to remove Alduin so he can be the ruler of Tamriel! H’s no better than the rest of them!”  
As the echoes ceased their resonations and Biorn was standing, wallowing in his newfound hatred for the ancient dragon, a faint glow began to shine in the coffin. At first, Biorn didn’t notice it, since he was facing the other way. The light grew stronger, brighter, and a minute rumble rattled the cavern. Biorn turned around. Pebbles and small rocks were falling loose into the void. The piercing white light radiating from the coffin was glowing so brightly that he had to shield his eyes. Then, all of a sudden, the black stone lid of the coffin shot up and hit the stairs to the left, splitting as it stumbled violently onto the landing below.  
Powerful blinding light still rose valiantly. Biorn made an effort to look through his fingers, though he still had to squint fiercely. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, a sole, ghostly figure arose from it, sitting so as to be only visible from the torso up. It had pale skin (where there was any at all) and no eyes to speak of. It was dressed in the same armor that the other draugr had worn; brownish, scaly pieces of rock hard material, with a menacing, horned helmet to top it all off. The only difference was in the chestpiece, where a massive, surging tear seemed to have ripped through quite violently. Light came out of the other side. It was about the size as a set of talons. . .  
Biorn grabbed his shield up and drew his sword at the ready, watching in awe as the figure rose. Many a draugr of famous Nords he had fought and slain. He didn’t want to imagine who this one might have been, yet there was no sense denying it. The pointed nose, the protruding chin, even the same scar above the left eye. . .  
It’s me. I am lying in that grave. I guess I should’ve known it all along. This tomb is mine, the words, the carvings, they’re all about me. . .and, well, here I am, responsible for it all. The One Who Damned Tamriel.  
“Bioooorn,” it spoke in a hollow, specter-like tone. “We. . .finally meet.”  
Dread was rubbing away whatever sanity Biorn had left. A catalyst of fear sprung forth in his heart, which beat uneasily, following suit of his quivering arms and legs. Biorn knew exactly who sat before him, yet, in his panicked fervor, he asked, “Wh-who are you?”  
“Is it not obvious?” the Draugr said, holding his arms up and gesturing towards the word wall. "I am you, and you are me. I am your destiny, lying here in this pitiful coffin.” The draugr turned it’s head and smiled. An unfriendly and cold grin graced its lips, and only instilled a lifeless shiver down Biorn’s spine. He didn’t make a sound in return. He could only quiver, despite his attempts to appear fierce and unafraid. His mouth hung ajar, and beads of sweat wrapped around his lips.  
The draugr continued, it’s bones creaking in harsh staccato snaps as it stepped out of the coffin. “Yes, it was I, Dovahkiin Biorn the Old, now a Draugr Lord, who summoned you here this day. Your time. . .” Lord Biorn laughed. “our time of retribution has come.”  
“Why did you summon me? Why am I here?”  
“The portal, Biorn, the portal. You were the only one capable of opening it. The rune you activated by stepping on? It was only a manifestation of the same rune which was built hundreds of years later, by the builders of this tomb. Some of the enslaved were mages, and knew how to enchant runes with special powers. I was already dead by the time of my tomb’s construction, but through prayer and commune, they offered me their plan, which I accepted.”  
“What plan? Is this a different time period? What is going on?”  
“Four hundred years separate you from the Skyrim you know,” the drugr said. “As I was saying, the plan was to give the rune the ability to open a portal to this date in time, but only to open for you, the Last Dragonborn. They knew it was the only hope of reversing the damage that has been done. And I was damned to lie in this coffin, waiting to answer the call.”  
“Some weird. . .weird feeling in my head guided me here. . .I don’t know how to explain it. . .”  
“Part of the rune’s enchantment,” the draugr offered. “the mages offered that a telepathic signal would drive you to the exact location of the rune. I was skeptical of such an unreliable tactic, but apparently it worked.”  
“I. . .I don’t understand. . .this is a lot to take in. . .”  
“I wouldn't expect you to,” Lord Biorn smirked. Now fully standing, he looked mighty and strong, despite his fragile, skeleton-like appearance. It was tall and menacing, towering over young Biorn. “The only thing I expected was that you made it this far, and that you have done.”  
“Why? What is going on?”  
Lord Biorn replied, still ghastly and sweeping, but annoyed as well. “What do you think is going on? You’re not a kid anymore, Biorn. Surely you can put two and two together?”  
Young Biorn’s mouth remained hung open. The Draugr Lord continued, exasperated. “I guess I really was that naive when I was young, wasn’t I? So young and full of pride--it will eventually be your downfall, as it was mine.”  
“No! I don’t know what you did to earn your fate, but I will be different! I will not follow in your footsteps!”  
“But they are our footsteps, Biorn,” the draugr said. “And you will succumb to this fate. You must accept that.”  
“No!” Biorn had been growing steadily angrier, and had finally boiled over upon shouting. Whether it be fear of his Draugr self before him, or the refusal to believe in his own fate, he drove himself towards his counterpart, sword raised above him. Horror was laced in his eyes.  
The sword was beginning its downward stroke aimed at Draugr Lord Biorn’s skull. Lord Biorn smiled. His glowing blue eyes bore into young Biorn. Before the ebony blade made contact, the draugr shouted. “Fus-ro-dah!”  
Biorn flew backwards. His sword flung down the stairs to the left, and he slammed back against the word wall before sliding harshly to the ground. His shield lay near him. The draugr stood still, having been quite entertained.  
Coughing and in pain, young Biorn said, “I will defeat you, and change whatever future lies before me. . .I will slay Alduin and save Tamriel!”  
“And what of Paarthurnax?” Lord Biorn asked inquisitively.  
“Well. . .” young Biorn remembered the inscription of the word wall. ‘. . .who had not the foresight to see himself felled by Paarthurnax,’ the carving said. The thought of those words panged at Biorn. He couldn’t believe such an atrocity would actually happen. “No, Paarthurnax will not betray me! He is helping me defeat Alduin!”  
The Draugr chuckled in a hollow voice that echoed throughout the cavern. “Oh, how truly naive I was! How foolish we are to trust that damned dragon!”  
The hollering and laughing only made Biorn tremble even more. Here they stood, trying to save Tamriel, and the draugr laughs! Biorn tried to muster some courage into his voice. “Stop laughing! This is serious!”  
The Draugr Lord did stop laughing. The sound still resonated loudly, but the horrifying undead now cocked his head quickly towards Biorn, losing all emotion in it’s face. Once again, those menacing eyes caused sweat to roll down the Dragonborn's face.  
His voice throttled down to a whisper. “Do you think you have the right to take away an old man’s laughter? After I spent the better part of my earthly existence in the fight against dragons, only to fail at the hands of my ally?” The voice grew more sickly and hate-filled, louder with disgust. “After all Paarthurnax did to stop Alduin, he turned around and stabbed me in the back! He claimed Tamriel for himself and did away with me! Damn him! Damn him!”  
“What happened? Why did Paarthurnax do this?”  
Lord Biorn sighed. regaining his ominous, distant nature. “Ok, let me tell you what’s going to happen to you. You’ll slay Alduin. The people will love you. You’ll talk to Paarthurnax back at the Throat of the World. The other dragons will be waiting, and Paarthurnax will have them surround you. You will try to fight them, but it will be to no avail. Defeated and nearly dead, Paarthurnax himself will skewer you with his talons as he begins his tour of rampage,” he said, fingering the gap that opened his stomach region, “destroying every city with his fellow dragons--and you’ll have front row seats to it all. Once you’ve watched Tamriel die before your eyes, Paarthurnax will have the survivors build you a grand burial tomb, the grandest of all the Nordic heroes.” Lord Biorn paused, taking in a heavy, coarse sigh. Despite being undead and supposedly emotionless, young Biorn couldn’t help but notice the Draugr Lord burden with despair as it spoke. It was as if it was reliving every agonizing moment of his failure.  
“It’s all a sick mockery,” he continued. “As if damning Tamriel wasn’t enough, Paarthurnax had this entire tomb dedicated to me,” Lord Biorn said as he gesticulated openly with his hands again. His voice quivered almost as if he was choking up. “They called me the ‘Savior of Tamriel!’ Oh, the joke it was!” He dropped his head into his hands without a word. The loss plagued young Biorn. He had entered the cavern a fearless dragonborn, ready to save Tamriel from the dragons. But now, here two versions of himself appeared; one, engulfed in shame and embarrassment, and one who has yet to experience it. Young Biorn shed a tear. Perhaps it wasn’t a tear, but sweat, as he was still equally afraid of the Draugr as he was horrified and appalled.  
Young Biorn stood, grabbing his shield and slowly caressing each step towards his older counterpart. “I. . .I am sorry. . .”  
The draugr’s head snapped up at him, growling. The sadness that had just enraptured him had suddenly disappeared. It was replaced with a renewed vigor, the same anger and ferocity that he had wielded earlier.  
Silene. Those eyes bore straight into young Biorn as he said, quietly at first, “What do you know about sorrow? You have no damn idea what that words means. You haven’t failed your only destiny.” He erupted. “You have no damn idea what sorrow means! But you will! You will know the meaning of pain, and suffering, and shame! For I am the damned, and you are the doomed!”  
And out of nowhere, a sword appeared in Draugr Biorn’s hands and was coming swiftly at young Biorn. Thankfully, the Dragonborn had his shield at the ready. He raised it deftly to deflect the incoming strike. His own sword still sat on the stairs, however, so he had no way of retaliating. The block staggered the draugr a good amount, sending him reeling back a few steps. “Ha! You like my blade? It’s Dragonbane, a gift of the Blades! Slayed a number of dragons during the Dragon Wars, it did.” Young Biorn suddenly had a harrowing thought, and used the opportunity to verbalize it.  
“Wait! Stop!” he shrieked as the draugr started coming for another strike. “I am but a younger version of you. If you kill me, you will cease to exist, won’t you?”  
“Ha! So you’re not as dull as you first seemed!” The draugr lord scorned as he swung down and young Biorn dodged to the left. “You’re right, I cannot kill you. Performing such an act would be suicide. I’m just going to make sure you don’t leave this room.”  
“Wh-what?” Biorn asked.  
“Fool! I’m going to save Tamriel, because you won’t!” Lord Biorn stopped swinging. He spoke condescendingly to his younger self. “You are not going to kill Paarthurnax. Even though you’ve seen all this, seen with your own damn eyes that he will be the end of you, some part of your tiny, pathetic little heart will still believe he is a noble dragon. Oh, what a scam!” He laughed. “If I can keep you here long enough to go through the portal you so graciously opened for me, I can kill him before he takes Skyrim, and redeem myself from damnation!”  
The Dragonborn’s eyes shot up. Until now, the only feelings he had felt was of fear. Suddenly, it all focused itself into a rising anger. “You’re whole point in doing this is redemption for yourself? Do you not care about saving Tamriel?”  
“Tamriel can burn, for all I care! Let the rebels and the imperials kill each other off! So long as I am a hero in the eyes of the survivors, what difference does it make? My destiny will have been fulfilled!”  
Biorn stood up fully, now fueled by adrenaline. “You are sick! Some hero you are, to only care about yourself! You are a disgrace!”  
Draugr Lord Biorn smiled playfully, as playful as an undead Nord could appear. “In that case, you’ll be a disgrace too, one day.”  
The draugr pointed his sword at young Biorn, intimidating him into cautiously shuffled backwards. The Dragonborn slammed hard against the word wall, shield poised and fear in his eyes, yet the Draugr did not stop closing the distance. They were a matter of feet apart when he spoke. “Enough!” Biorn said. “How do you plan to stop me, huh? Am I just going to lie down while you completely change everything in the past?”  
The draugr smiled. “Actually, yes. You’ll be suffering from paralysis. Yes, a severe case of it, too.” His grin extended, stretching the already thin cells of his skin. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first dragonborn I’ve contended with. But don’t worry. In a day or two, you’ll regain control of your muscles, and by then, I’ll have saved Skyrim myself.”  
Biorn could only stand completely still, stricken to the bone with fright and confusion. The draugr raised his hand and held it with open fingers, as if he were holding a snowball. A radiant, virescent flame swelled in the space. It grew in size and vividness as the seconds passed, to which young Biorn could only try to move despite the stiff resilience of his muscles. His mind furiously sought for a spell of its own. Without even realizing it, Biorn had raised his arm and a mellow, copper ball of light appeared in his hands. He charged a telekinesis spell.  
The spell continued charging in the draugr’s hands, still growing intensely past a state that even experienced mages could’ve retained control. Biorn instinctively, fearfully, cast his own magic at a nearby table, desperate to grab hold of some sort of weapon. The slivery, copper colored aura that shot from his hand was aimed out of pure fright.  
It caught hold of a bottle that sat upon a nearby table. The draugr brought his arm back, obviously preparing to shoot his spell forward. All the while with a sick, lifeless smile across his face. The bottle magnetized to Biorn and now hovered directly in front of him. The draugr was casting the spell. No sooner did Biorn feel the last of his magic reserves drain from him than he used telekinesis to shoot the bottle at the draugr.  
Whether it was complete luck, or an unconscious skillful intention that managed to guide the bottle to the draugr’s face, where it shattered, Biorn was never sure. The bottle made impact just as his adversary was launching the spell forwards. The disorientation that the shattered glass (as well as whatever liquid was contained inside) caused the draugr did not stop him from casting the spell, however. The paralysis spell leapt from the draugr’s hands. Biorn screamed.  
But Lord Biorn missed. The paralysis spell shot high and to the right of Biorn. The green magic exploded the stone of the word wall, causing a massive rain of stone chunks to come crashing down on Biorn. He shielded himself, holding desperately against the weight of the collective rocks tumbling down upon his shield.  
After the brief shower ended, Biorn looked over, and turned ghastly pale by what he saw. The Draugr Lord was screaming at the top of his lungs, hands now covering his face. Through his scrawny fingers, Biorn could see splinters of glass burrowed quite deeply into the flaky skin of the draugr. No blood was rushing out, yet the Draugr was in incredible pain.  
In his torment, he had dropped his sword to the ground beside him. Young Biorn sprinted to it and snatched it up, shouting, “Oh my. . .oh my. . .this is your fault! You should never have summoned me here!”  
Staggering and dazed, Lord Biorn murmured, “I’m. . .not. . .done. . .yet!” Now weaponless, he pulled one hand away from his face and began charging another spell. It wa a pitiful attempt, and before the spell was even ready to cast, young Biorn had struck him through his stomach. The sword had pierced a breeching hole in Biorn’s armor, a hole made by the talons of their common foe, Paarthurnax. Biorn twisted the blade, chipping away the cracked and dry skin where the blade came into contact.  
The draugr fell to his knees, once again covering his face and crying out. Biorn wasn’t exactly sure what to do now. He certainly didn’t want to kill an older version of himself, and certainly not when the helpless thing can’t even defend himself. Worried and clueless, Biorn said, “I’m sorry, but you made me do it! I couldn’t just let you go back and forth between our dimensions! If I would’ve known what I was getting myself into, I would never have come.”  
Between pained sucks of air, Lord Biorn spoke. “You. . .damned. . .us. . .all. . .” He lifted his hands from his face. Peeled skin, eaten away by time and apparently cut loose by the glass, now hung freely from his face, revealing a faint collection of pale muscles behind it. With failing strength, he fell to the floor.  
A surge of pity crossed young Biorn as he viewed his older self in shambles, lying on the ground. Losing all fear, he knelt down beside the draugr. Before he could say anything, Lord Biorn spoke up, coughing, choking. “All these years. . .waiting. . .for this. . .”  
The young Dragonborn momentarily felt empathy for the helpless thing. It didn’t seem right to have failed in his earthly life, only to lose it all in his second existence. Yet the draugr certainly was not going to be leaving this dimension, young Biorn would make sure of that. In his moment of empathy, young Biorn asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”  
“Kill Paarthurnax. . .if only you would, everything would be set right. . .but I know you won’t. You’re too big-hearted and weak.” He spited, coughing hoarsely. As he began speaking, a black tone of despair entered his voice, seeming to take over what his diminishing life force left vacant. “A lifetime’s worth of work. . .wasted. . .” His head fell to the side.  
Silence. The entire cavern stood still. The only sounds that could be heard were the gentle rush of the waterfall and the black pit’s hollow resonations. Time ceased to move forward as young Biorn knelt over his own deceased corpse. The Draugr Lord’s last words contained in them all the anguish and suffering that accumulated over his entire lifetime, only to be exemplified in that one last, humiliating defeat. The body remained still, yet young Biorn knew that the soul would never be at ease.  
Warm, liquid drops gathered in his eyes, and his breath quickened. Despite a futile struggle, tears eventually cascaded down his face as sobs escaped his mouth. Apologies and promises he threw freely, unwilling to let this death be in vain. After a certain time, Biorn rose, wiping away the liquid that clotted his eyes. He looked at the body one last time. Then he left.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Biorn reached the Throat of the World. It was never an easy climb, but the struggle to reach the top never seemed so important as it now did. The snow fell speedily and the winds whipped about violently, but not even that could stop Biorn. Atop the world, Paarthurnax sat, resting.  
“Ah, Dovah,” the dragon spoke in his deep, ancient voice. “I presumed you were on your way to Skuldafn and Sovngarde by now. What brings you back?”  
Upon sight of the dragon, Biorn felt his kindling fury taking grasp. The thought of the Draugr’s last thoughts ran through his head. ‘Kill Paarthurnax. . .but I know you won’t. You’re too big-hearted and weak.’ Biorn was determined to prove the draugr wrong. He unsheathed his new blade, the same blade that the Draugr Lord himself had used against him. Upon eyeing it, Paarthurnax veered back with cold apprehension. And there they stood, the Dragonborn peering challengingly at the enormous dragon before him.  
“That sword. . .it strikes a familiarity with me.”  
“It is Dragonbane, a gift from the Blades Faction.”  
“Ah, I recall Dragonbane, as well as the Blades. It was wielded against dragons in the ancient times. Fell a great many of my brothers, it did.” Paarthurnax moved closer, inquisitively. “Are you planning to slay my nefarious brother Alduin with it?”  
“Yes. But he will not be the first felled by this blade. It will be you.”  
Biorn charged the dragon. Paarthurnax, realizing a battle commencing, let out a mighty roar that struck terror into all of Skyrim. All who heard it's magnificence quivered in horror, except for Biorn, who drew courage from knowing that destiny lied in his own hands.


End file.
